The Furies

"Quite right, I did. So in your opinion, we're licked?"

Erica didn't know what to say. She hated to admit it, but she really didn't see any way out.

"She didn't say that, sir," the Goose piped up.

"Who are you?" Harris demanded.

"She's one of mine," Erica responded quickly, "go ahead Goose,"

"What the Boss was saying was we don't have a chance, IF we sit and let them figure out what hit them and come back. Despite the fact we took a beating, we now have the advantage. If we press them, go over to the attack and keep them off balance, we could well buy enough time to regroup and get our production facilities up to speed."

Erica had thought no such thing, but the Goose quickly stepped back, leaving her to expound upon the idea.

"Well, at the very least they won't expect it," Harris said in an awed tone.

"Thoughts?" he asked after no one spoke up.

"We have two capital ships, just a handful of escorts, only a madman would attack with that. At least here, they can supplement the station's mass drivers," Ricks said.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Hosegawa said thoughtfully.

All eyes turned to him, but he took a while before he spoke again.

"The Trog jump here from three systems. At any one time their fleets are divided between those systems. Theoretically, if we attack, we will face only about a third of their fleet. If we force that fleet to retreat, it will make it impossible for it to link up with other elements. A jump to a non-defended system would then force them to come after us. The Trog think very linearly. They can't know how much damage they inflicted or our fleet strength here. With a fleet driving into their interior and no idea what awaits them here, they will most likely leave screening forces on the border and go after that fleet with all they have."

"And when they catch it, they will annihilate it and return, more sure than ever they can take Yalo," Tibbets opined.

"They have to catch us first," Erica said.

"And they will, Commander, eventually they will."

"But the key word there is eventually. We aren't talking about having to run forever, merely leading them a merry chase that takes a few months," Quarrels said.

"But they will catch you and when they do, they will destroy you to a man," Ricks stated flatly.

"Perhaps. But we will be just as dead, if they concentrate force here at Yalo. At least if we take it to them, we stand a chance of surviving and our deaths, if that should be our fate, will serve to buy time."

"I would point out that you will have to take on bombardment ordinance. Are your pilots prepared to rain death on unprotected worlds?"

"I don't know. My pilots are green," Erica said thoughtfully.

"Mine are," Rambler said, "Every man jack of them has lost friends and most saw the ruins of Deneb IV after the Trog let loose on the planet."

"All right. Paul, what can we send on this offensive in say, one week's time?" Harris queried.

"How much do you want to leave for defense?"

"Nothing. I want the call sent out to every system to send their system defense boats."

"They're mostly obsolete destroyers, Ed."

"I know, but they create a sensor signature. That's the best defense we have now, deception."

"In that case, they can have all of the seventh fleet units that arrive. I have a handful of fighter pilots we can send, to bolster the cover groups."

"Provisions?"

'The base's stores weren't hit, we can outfit a fleet this small with ease from our own stocks," Ricks added.

Erica felt good that she had been right about him. He made his argument, but when out voted, threw himself into helping anyway he could, including putting his own folks on short rations.

"What about parts?" the Goose asked. Although not of flag rank, no one seemed ready to question her speaking.

"The carrier Kurishima wasn't totally destroyed. The hulk was towed out of the way to keep it from being a navigation hazard. I can send some salvage crews. The hanger decks were more or less intact, I'm sure some of the parts lockers survived," Ricks said.

Erica got the feeling the ship wasn't in bad shape or a navigational hazard, but had been towed out of sight for morale. If that was so, they could even hope for a few more fighters.

"Excellent. Paul, you and Jack coordinate with Admiral Quarrels. Get the small ships to work within the hour ferrying out supplies. As the TDD ships arrive, make sure they are fully stocked too. I'll get our people to work on the salvage project. Grew, see if you can get a fast freighter to drop its load and pick up any torpedoes or fighters at the R & D center, give it top priority clearance. We'll meet back here on Sunday for a final briefing. Quarrels, give your non-essential people base leave."

Rebel eased into a seat at Bel's and ordered a scotch, which is what she had been drinking the last time according to Cloudy. The Indian woman was dancing with Cowboy, the pilot who had saved her. Jugs was at the old guard table, apparently she had caught Surfer's eye. Lou was back and forth, between this table and others. She seemed to be making friends everywhere and Rebel envied her for that.

The entire place was suffused with an air of celebration, but Rebel wasn't part of it. Not because anyone was keeping her from joining in, in fact Lou, Cloudy, Jugs, even Lucky had tried to get her to join in the fun, but she felt apart from everyone. Like a spectator at the big game, she was watching it all, but detached from it.

She had killed today. Not just a single person, no she had killed on a grand scale. She had been credited with a Trog heavy cruiser and a battleship. Even the Boss had only scored a cruiser and battlecruiser, making Rebel the Ace of the day. While everyone else had been celebrating she had plugged into the ship's computer and looked at the specs on those ships. Just under five thousand crewmen had died in less than ten minutes. All by her hand.

She had known a few veterans, deserters mostly, who talked about the horror or war. The spoke in hushed whispers about looking into a man's eyes as you killed him. About a million other things that made each death seem personal. Compared to what she had just done, sticking a bayonet into a man's ribs seemed clean. Maybe it was different in the army.

Rebel had decided in the Navy, the horror of war wasn't personal, the most horrific thing was how impersonal it was. Five thousand deaths and what did that earn her? A lot of congratulations. A few offers to buy her a drink. Another day at the office.

It bothered her now, but even that was perverse. When she pulled the trigger it had been with exhilaration and when she thought they had killed Cloudy, she had hated like she never thought possible. No one else seemed to be wanting to reflect on it or maybe they were drinking, partying and planning on screwing so they didn't have to think about it. She wasn't sure.

She had been the first to embrace the Indian woman when she made it back. Tears of joy spilling down her cheeks. They had both been embarrassed, but Cloudy had winked just before the rest of the group showed up. Rebel slipped away after hearing how a pilot in Texas Thunder had showed up in the nick of time for the third time. That same pilot was dancing with Cloudy now.

She kept glancing at the old guard table, hoping to see the Boss. As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, even the faint hope of seeing her diminished until Rebel was too drunk to care.

"Jeezus Christ, Lucky. We've been doing this shit for six days running, give us a break?" Jugs whined.

"Ain't my fault, sweety. Blame the Goose. You children aren't hitting more than eighty-five percent of your side and rear quarter approaches and that just won't cut it. Frankly, I think you've all hurt her feelings." Lucky teased.

"My feelings only get hurt when my girl has a headache." Goose replied.

"See? Can't you tell she's heartbroken?"

"Lucky? Fuck you."

"Anytime you're ready, Goose."

"Talk to me when you can hit more than eighty-five percent of your side on approaches."

"Ouch!" someone called.

Lou suppressed a laugh and armed the two missiles on her ship. She was one of those who was hitting better than ninety percent and hoped she would get the afternoon off. The round the clock flying had worn on everyone and her in particular. Flying was an incredible rush for her and she now felt like she had a hangover. She desperately needed a long sleep rather than the cat naps she had been grabbing. Actually, she needed a good session with Lucky and her big friend, then a few hours sleep, she thought with a sexy smile.

"Tell you what Goose, what say if I hit this one, you come to my quarters and put out for me?"

"And if you miss?"

"Then you come back to my place and put out!" Lucky replied, laughing like a hyena.

Several other girls joined her.

"Knock it off," Rebel commanded.

"Yes, ma'am!" Lucky replied.

Lou marveled at that. Rebel had been named flight leader of black flight. She hadn't seemed to be too happy about it. In fact, she had been very withdrawn and distant since their first combat experience. She meant to talk to her, but Lou had a healthy streak of caution in her and just plain old common sense. Something was eating the short woman and when it came out, Lou had no doubt it would be explosive. As much as she wanted to help, she didn't want to get caught in the blast.

"Black flight, form on me," Rebel called.

Lucky was flying with them, to give Rebel the feel of a full flight. Once they formed up Rebel spoke again.

"Accelerate to attack speed."

Lou eased the throttle forward, blushing when she remembered her lessons in thrust. Their target today was an old destroyer called the Thames. It had been "killed" about a thousand times in the last week.

Lou watched the numbers fall and eyeballed her release point. Everyone wondered how she did so well at this and she had refused to say. The reason was that she had been a champion dodge ball player back home. Much of that had to do with hitting someone with the ball and she had become adept at judging motion. This run proved to be even easier when the small ship started to wallow to port.

Two more shots. Two more hits. Ninety-seven percent on the week and an afternoon of snoozing were hers. After a long session of getting her brains fucked out, of course.

They were all assembled in the conference room again, minus the prefect and most of the department heads.

"Well?" Admiral Harris said.

"The ship and her escorts are all primed, fully provisioned and ready to go," Ricks said.

"Recovery on the Kurishima went better than expected, Yorktown will leave with a full complement of one hundred and fifty fighters plus parts. Unfortunately, we only managed to find another eighteen combat-effective pilots. So that will give them less than one hundred and thirty available fighters for any sortie."

"Research and development managed to round up another eight fighters and two hundred and seventy five torpedoes. One fighter was damaged beyond salvage in the defense of the starbase so Commander Davies will start with fifty-nine Corsairs."

"Yorktown is ready, operating at one hundred percent efficiency, according to the old girl," Quarrels reported.

"I have some good news from signals intelligence," Harris said with a grin.

"Our cold blooded friends have no idea what hit them."

"How is that possible?" Hosegawa asked.

"Well, it's part a big gun mentality and partly due to this ancient battlewagon. Yorktown class battleships were removed from the registry of active warships two or three hundred years before we ever encountered the Trog. Since their intelligence on our ships and ship types come from captured ships, they have never seen anything quite like her. Fifteen inch PPCs in turrets look nothing like today's thirty sixes, which you all know are mounted in tandem centerline."

Everyone looked at him expectantly and when what he was saying didn't register he continued.

"Basically they put two and two together and got five. New ship type. New gun design. Massive damage…"

"They think the Yorktown blasted those ships!" Quarrels blurted.

"According to the signals boys, that's what they think," Harris said smiling.

"About time we caught a break," Tibbets said.

"This mission is approved by the high command, but they stress it is offered, not ordered," Hosegawa said after the laughter died down.

All eyes turned to Erica. She cleared her throat and paused before replying.

"My pilots are hitting about ninety percent of the time. Taking into account the uncertainty of combat conditions, my weapons expert estimates that will translate to no better than a fifty percent hit to fire ratio. Considering the devastating effect of the torpedoes, I say we go with what we have. We'll jump to Alpha One and beard the lion in his den. If we fail, we fall. If we succeed…"

"We'll face that challenge when it comes," Quarrels finished for her.

"I don't have to tell you the level of bravery and commitment you are showing. Nor do I have the words to express the awe and respect of those who send you into harm's way. And I certainly could never express the hope of the trillions whose very existence rests with your bold gambit. What I can do is this," he said, reaching under the table and producing two bottles with red ribbons on them.

"Scotch. Thirty year old single malt. Distilled in Conewegh, in Scotland, on old earth."

Erica's jaw nearly hit the floor as she accepted the dark green glass bottle. A parting gift of booze from an admiral was out of the ordinary, but not unheard of. A bottle of real earth alcohol was. She hadn't met five people in her life who even claimed to have had real scotch. The stuff was rarer than gold and far more precious. Even planetary governors couldn't afford such a luxury.

"I only ask that you at least crack the bottle tonight and lift a toast to the Navy."

"Aye-aye, sir," they replied in unison.

Rebel sat quietly in her fighter, staring stoically down the long chute of the catapult. Black flight would launch first, with Cloudy, Jugs and Lou coming out from the portside launchers and herself and a new girl, Troy, coming from the starboard. Texas Thunder would be launching as their cover group.

Five groups, five fighters in each. Rowdy flight. The Lucky Strikes. Surfer girls. The Goslings. And her group, Black flight.

It didn't seem possible that she would be leading a group. Out of all the graduates and ten veterans, it just boggled her mind that she had been selected. She wondered why, pondered it, went over it in her mind and still came up with a giant question mark.

Six months ago she was the ultimate outsider, now she wore a brevet lieutenant's bars. She wasn't even in charge of herself and now she had four people's lives in her hands. If the weight of it didn't kill her, the Trog probably would.

"Five minutes till we exit hyperspace," the Cap officer called.

Five minutes. You could live a lifetime in five minutes if you were a fighter pilot. Out there in the cold, hard vacuum of space, life was measured in split seconds. She wished Cloudy had been made flight leader, but understood why she hadn't. She was in love. Stupid, sappy, in love with the pilot they all called Cowboy and she called Dran. She was still one of the best, but she was so caught up in him that she wasn't all there and the Boss had noticed it.

The Boss. That was her real problem. They fought when she got her promotion. They fought when she was made a flight commander. Every time they were near each other Rebel lost her temper. Like clockwork. And what really killed her was, Erica Davies was the one person in the world she wanted to impress. Instead she always came off feeling like she was acting like a petulant child.

Five minutes. It was enough time to think yourself to death.

Alpha one. The system was the first of those that was controlled by the Trog. It consisted of a binary star pair, with some fifteen planets. The Trog had colonized the third and forth planets out from the star pair. The system was a border world and so they had constructed a fleet repair dock, battlestation and some static defenses on the various outer worlds. The fleet stayed close to the occupied planets and batlestation. Beyond that, they knew very little about what they would face.

On the far edge of this system, space twinkled, dissolved into a fuzzy patch where outlines were blurred, and then cleared, to reveal the Terran battle fleet, where before there had been only blackness.

"Tactical," Captain Quarrels demanded. The view screen immediately had a tactical map overlaid on the view field.

"Now tracking three hundred and ninety-five hostiles," the computer reported.

"Foghats?"

"None."

Quarrels turned to Erica and smiled. They had won the first throw of the dice, picking a sector that had none of the new super ships with the strange code name. She smiled back, pressing a button on her repeater screen. She would have preferred to be in combat, but as Air Boss, she would be coordinating and she just couldn't accomplish it from the cockpit.

"Fleet order, Line ahead," Quarrels barked, as the huge ship began to overcome inertia and move towards the enemy fleet. Potempkin took the lead, being the lone battleship, Yorktown eased in behind her, followed by the battlecruisers Gallant and Defiant. The heavy cruisers Hawthorn, Graves, Triton, Imperious and God's Hand formed the rest of the battle line. Destroyers and light cruisers darted out to the edges, forming a protective ring around the heavies.

"Beginning launch operations," Erica reported.

As the fleet moved slowly forward, gaining speed, the catapults and launch bays came alive, filling the empty space with multitudes of small ships.

"Black flight, form on me," Rebel called, trying to keep the excitement from her voice.

"Roger," Cloudy called.

"Right with you," Lou responded.

"On you," Jugs called.

"With you sir," Troy reported.

"Thunder?"

"Got your six, Rebel," he said in the drawl she was getting used to over the tac net. He didn't talk like that in person and Rebel thought he affected the drawl so he always seemed calm to his pilots.

"Black flight in position," she reported on the air ops net.

"Roger Black flight, hold your position," the Boss's clipped response came.

A few minutes of lonely calls as orphans found their flights and the whole air wing jockeyed into position.

"Listen up. We have six cruisers and three destroyers who have separated from the main group. Black flight and the Rowdies, disengage from the wing and proceed to take them out,"

"On it," Red, the leader of the Rowdies called.

"Roger," Rebel called, switching back to the tac net.

"We're going after that group of stragglers, follow me."

Rebel accelerated to attack speed and her group pulled away from the wing and quickly opened the distance from the Terran fleet.

"Arm torpedoes," she called, before opening the safety locks and arming both of hers.

The cruisers were broadside to her, apparently attempting to sprint out and form a wedge that would trap the Terran fleet between two forces.

"I've got fighters coming, Thunder,"

"I see 'em. All right boys, the lizards want to play, let's go humor them," he called.

Erica watched as the six Ghostdogs flashed past them and accelerated towards the incoming fighters. At fifty thousand clicks they were buffeted by missiles, but the majority passed by them and even those that were close enough couldn't penetrate the Corsair's formidable shields.